


Taking Advantage

by RussianWitch



Series: Kinktober2018 [17]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Frottage, Kinktober 2018, M/M, Manipulation, Morally Ambiguous Character, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-20
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-08-04 19:11:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16352522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RussianWitch/pseuds/RussianWitch
Summary: Day 16 Frottage





	Taking Advantage

**Author's Note:**

> Not betaed

Greg shoulders past the police cordon his coat collar pulled up over his ears in case some sod decides to talk to him.

The crime scene is still behind his eyelids, most of his team had had to take a breather, but he had stayed so he wouldn't miss anything. Not that there was a lot to discover—despite the blood and gore, Anderson's team would find little in the way of trace evidence.

He taps a cigarette out of the pack, lights it and inhales deep letting the bitter taste of tobacco and the rush of nicotine hitting his bloodstream distract him from the dark memories for a moment.

"Lestrade!" Someone hisses from the shadow of an alley, and Greg's hand is on his gun without conscious thought.

A lean silhouette melts out of the shadows, all angles and feverish eyes, fancy coat unbuttoned and scarf practically falling off his neck.

"Sherlock," he grunts desperately wanting to turn away and not deal with whatever the young man has come here for.

"They wouldn't let me in!" Sherlock complains, shaking with something that may be rage, or maybe withdrawal, " _or_ get you!" He adds petulantly.

"The superintendent is still thinking about it," Greg sighs, "I can't exactly demand he hurry up."

"Why not?" Sherlock demands getting in Greg's face, careless of the cigarette he's holding.

One of the problems Greg has with the genius junky is his absolute obliviousness to the concept of personal space.

"Because Scotland Yard does _not_ revolve around Sherlock bloody Holmes!" Greg barks, turning to knock Sherlock out of his way with his shoulder.

"Graham—!" Sherlock starts to whine only to shut up with a frown when Greg glares at him and starts walking again.

"Greg!" The younger man relents, catching up with Greg as he turns a corner into an empty side street, "you _need_ me!"

Sherlock's fingers dig into Greg's arm, spin him around, and Greg feels himself losing it. Shaking Sherlock's grasp off, he gives the young man a shove pinning him to the wall, barely missing the young man's face with the cigarette.

"Belt up!" He snarls, exhaustion crashing over him, "I've had _a very long_ day, and the last thing I need is you hounding me. There are rules! Neither the superintendent nor I am going to break them just because you're bored!"

Something in Sherlock's face shifts, a frown turns into a pout then smooths out, to return to a frown once more.

"I _need_ to do something!" Sherlock snarls, and looking closer Greg gets it.

"Christ, you're gagging for it," he groans, seeing the little rest he'd been looking forward to disappearing down the crapper.

"I'm _not_! I just need—," the wind picks up blowing the cigarette smoke into Sherlock's face.

He freezes, his nose twitching as he draws a lung-full of smoke.

"Made you quit smoking, did they?" Greg asks, deliberately moving the cigarette away to see the young man squirm.

"Mycroft threatened the attending physician," Sherlock sulks, swaying toward Greg's cigarette while trying to look like he's staying in place.

"And now you want, what?"

"To solve your case, or someone else's case—something to _keep my mind occupied_!" The young man looks genuinely upset, hands twitching as he tries to keep from fidgeting, biting his bottom lip in a way that had Greg not been married—

"Please…" Sherlock whispers loudly.

Greg feels a ball of heat flair in his gut, the plea pulling at his worse nature, making him remember how sweet a boy could look on his knees.

"You're thinking about sex, why are you thinking about sex?" Sherlock breaks into his thought, "aaach, motivators—fear, greed, lust, would offering sex—"

Greg isn't in the mood to listen to himself get dissected by Sherlock's too sharp intellect. Certainly not while he's too tired to keep himself under control.

"You want a hit?" He asks before Sherlock can go on, waving his half-smoked cigarette in the young man's face.

"Yessss," Sherlock lunges forward, but Greg catches him with a hand in the middle of the bony chest warm under the lick silk of Sherlock's shirt.

Greg pushes him back until Sherlock is pinned against the wall, twisting like a disgruntled cat trying to make its escape.

"I'm not giving you a cigarette, you might relapse," Greg says just to be mean, blood rushing with a deafening roar in his veins, "but I will give you a taste—," he offers once Sherlock's face has twisted with dismay, taking a deep drag and making the cherry light up bright red.

Sherlock catches up fast, sinking back against the wall, licking his lips awkwardly, eyes jumping between the cigarette and Greg's mouth.

Greg crowds closer, until he's flush against the younger man, annoyed that Sherlock is taller, he tilts the younger man's chin down and slots his lips over Sherlock's exhaling into Sherlock's mouth.

He thinks of Karin for an instant, but Sherlock grips his shoulders in a bruising grip pulling him closer and shoving his leg between Greg's dragging his skinny thigh back and forth roughly.

Out of breath, Greg wrenches his mouth away intent on pulling back, but Sherlock doesn't let him.

"More!" He demands.

Bracing his hand on the wall, Greg takes another deep drag, unsurprised that the situation has gotten away from him.

Sucking the smoke out of his lungs, Sherlock trips him, and Greg finds himself slammed against the wall.

Sherlock's thigh between his legs, rubbing and pressing, driving Greg insane.

He doesn't realise he's dropped the cigarette butt and both his hands are in Sherlock's hair until he feels Sherlock's hands on his ass pulling him closer.

Greg finds himself rooting helplessly against the skinny thigh between his legs, closing his eyes to keep from seeing the calculation of Sherlock's face.

He comes knocking his head painfully against the wall and Sherlock rummaging through his pockets.

Slumping as he catches his breath, Greg watches Sherlock shake two cigarettes out of the back and light them both inhaling deeply with a throaty moan, offering one to Greg.

"I'll talk to the superintendent tomorrow, shall I?" He finds himself saying.

Sherlock smiles. 


End file.
